


Falling in Love at an Ice Cream Shop

by destielkills



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Ice Cream, Ice Cream Parlors, M/M, Teenage Castiel/Teenage Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:50:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2091348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielkills/pseuds/destielkills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why is Neapolitan your favorite flavor?” Dean asked, taking a spoonful of vanilla from the middle of the tub in Cas’s lap.<br/>“I guess because there’s so many ways you can eat it.” At Dean’s questioning look Castiel continued. “It has three separate flavors, and you can eat them all separately, or all together, or two and not the other, however you want. With most flavors it’s all just mixed in there and you’re forced to eat it all at once. Neapolitan gives you a choice, like…free will.”<br/>Dean laughed. “I guess I’ve never thought about it that way.”	</p><p>A high school AU inspired by Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop by Landon Pigg, but changed to an ice cream shop because it's summer and why not? Main focus is Destiel, background Sam/Jess and Jo/Ash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

During the summer Castiel frequented the ice cream shop 10 minutes from his house. It may or may not have had absolutely nothing to do with the ice cream and everything to do with the fact that Dean Winchester, who sat in front of him in biology the previous semester, worked the ice cream counter every afternoon from 3 to 8. Castiel usually sat in the booth in the corner farthest from the counter and drew in his sketchbook. He had a direct view of the ice cream counter from his seat, but if he bent his head it blocked the workers’ view of him. It was the perfect spot.

Castiel wasn’t stupid, he knew Dean saw him walking in the door at precisely 3:30 every day and leaving four hours later, 30 minutes before Dean’s shift ended. They’d made eye contact a couple time but usually Cas just slipped into his booth and began drawing, eyes glued on the tile floor the whole time. That is until one day, during a lull in business, Dean dropped a bowl with 3 scoops of Neapolitan in front of Cas, let out a brief “my treat” and walked away before Cas could say thank you. Castiel stared at the ice cream curiously. A 3 scoop bowl certainly wasn’t the most expensive item on their menu, but it was still much pricier than a single, or even double, scoop. Even the workers only got a single scoop a day on their break. And then there was the fact that Neapolitan was his absolute favorite, but there’s no way Dean could have known that, right? He’d never ordered anything except a small soda from the other cashier while Dean was on break. He thought back to the few brief conversations they’d had during biology and couldn’t recall anything about ice cream flavors ever being a topic of interest. Eventually Cas shrugged it off as coincidence and ate the ice cream, leaving a five dollar bill on his table when he left. The next day he came back and the bill was taped to the window the booth sat against with a sticky note that read “you obviously don’t understand the concept of ‘my treat’.”

This continued every few days, and each time Castiel attempted to pay for the ice cream both Dean and whichever other cashier was working at the time waved him off. A few times Dean even sat down with him on his break and they talked. Their conversations were simple, about music or favorite foods. Castiel learned that Dean loved pie and grew up on classic rock. His little brother Sam was 13 and played soccer and their dad traveled for work so they were home alone most of the time. The more they talked the more Cas found himself drawn to Dean. Dean had a reputation for being a loose cannon, unreliable and slightly arrogant, but during their conversation Cas began to see Dean in a new light. He was funny, and passionate about his interests. He loved his family and was fiercely protective of his brother. And, for some reason Castiel couldn’t for the life of him understand, he seemed genuinely interested in Castiel. Soon Dean began including Castiel in conversations with the other employees and their inside jokes and debates over everything from best classic rock artist to pens vs. pencils.

A couple weeks later Castiel’s favorite charcoal pencil broke and he cursed out loud, earning a raised eyebrow and head nod toward a small group of children from Dean, who happened to be wiping down the table in front of him. Cas felt himself flush and ducked his head, clearing his throat.

“Sorry. My pencil broke.” He looked at the fragments of charcoal and sighed, placing them back in his pencil holder.

“I have one you can borrow, if you need it.” Dean said, causing Cas to look up at him, surprised. Dean was leaning against one of the booth seats with his arms crossed and Castiel noted how his grey work shirt stretched over his biceps and hugged his torso. He was watching Cas with his eyebrow still raised over his intensely green eyes, his pink lips barely parted. Castiel felt himself growing warm and shook himself from his thoughts, shifting in his seat slightly.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just – it was a charcoal pencil, my only one, and they’re rather expensive. Thank you, though. I do appreciate the offer.”

“No problem.” Dean uncrossed his arms and stood. “So, are you ever gonna show us what it is you draw every day in your little corner, or are they too…private.” Dean smirked and Castiel blushed.

“No, they’re not private.” Castiel blushed. “But you can’t see them.”

“Why not?” Dean mock begged. “Oh wait, no, I think I get it. You don’t actually draw at all. It’s just your excuse so you can come in here and stare at me every day.”

Castiel felt his blush deepen and his eyes widened. “I – who said I – why would - ” he spluttered, cutting himself off before he could embarrass himself even more. “I don’t stare at you.”

“You do kind of stare at me.” Dean grinned when Castiel blushed even harder. “Hey, I take it as a compliment. Attention is attention, y’know?”

Castiel nodded, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering so hard it felt like they were going to burst through his skin. He quickly checked his watch and saw that it was already 7:35. He swore again, standing abruptly and gathering his supplies into his bag. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really have to go.”

“No problem. Curfew or something?” Dean wondered innocently.

“Or something.” Cas muttered as he clipped the flap on his messenger bag closed and shouldered it. “Thank you for offering me your pencil though. I do appreciate the thought.”

“No problem. Again. Dean called as Castiel rushed out of the shop, checking his watch again. 7:36. If he hurried he could still be home in time. He walked as quickly as he could without running, dodging the occasional dog-walker and child on a bike as he hurried up Kentucky Street toward his house. When he reached his front door he paused to catch his breath and flatten his hair before walking into the house, preparing himself for whatever he might find.

Luckily the living room was empty, so Castiel could easily hide his bag in the coat closet. Unluckily that meant his father was most likely in either the den or his office, drunk and asleep. He made his way up the stairs, listening for any sound of movement. As he neared the top Anna emerged from her room and stood at the railing.

“Where is Father?” Castiel asked.

“Joshua is in the couch in his office.” Anna answered, sweeping her bright red hair into a loose ponytail. “Today wasn’t a good day so be gentle waking him.”

Castiel sighed. There rarely was ever a good day. “However un-fatherly he is acting, he is still our father and you should call him such.”

“I still don’t know why you insist on taking care of him. He’s never going to pull himself out of this.”

“I take just enough care of him that it doesn’t get us removed from the home. I felt separating us would prove detrimental to our wellbeing.”

“And you know I’m grateful for that. We all are. But Michael is eighteen now, and I’m the youngest and I’m already fourteen. Michael could easily make a case for becoming our guardian.” Anna argued.

“I know you don’t agree that Father can become well again but I cannot give up my faith in him, though he has given me more than enough reason to do so.”

“Just give it some thought, Castiel. I know you remain hopeful that Father will recover and return to his normal self, but you can’t keep sacrificing your own life to preserve what little is left of his.”

Castiel nodded but said nothing as he passed Anna and walked to the office at the end of the hall. He cautiously pushed the door open, knocking softly.

“Father?”

A snore was Castiel’s reply and he sighed, stepping into the room fully and closing the door behind him. The room was dark, the curtains drawn tightly, and next to the couch where his father lay was a side table covered in empty liquor bottles, Aspirin bottles, and used tissues. Cas turned on a lamp, took the wastebasket from beside the computer desk and swept the trash into it before walking around and leaning down in front of his father.

“Father, you need to go to your bed now.” He laid a cautious hand on Joshua’s arm and shook him lightly, earning a soft moan.

“Go’way.” Joshua waved his arm weakly before turning to bury his head in the couch cushions. Castiel sighed and placed his hand on his father’s shoulder once more, shaking insistently this time.

“Father, you have to go to your bed, it’s almost eight o’clock.”

Joshua let out a loud sigh before heaving himself into a sitting position. His eyes were squinted and his hair was an unkempt mess. The sky blue robe he wore over his pajamas was stained and threadbare. It had been his mother’s before her tragic death, and it was the only one of her possessions his father didn’t throw out in a fit of drunken rage the night after her funeral. Castiel backed away a bit, but did not lower his gaze as his father blinked and adjusted to bright light.

“You’re home.” Joshua stated simply, his voice dry and gruff.

“Yes, I am. I came home to help you take your medicine, as I do every night. It’s almost eight.” Castiel repeated, helping the man stand.

“Fuck my medicine.” His father grumbled. “It doesn’t help anyway.”

“The doctors say – “

“Fuck the doctors too.” Joshua let out a sharp laugh. “Fuck ‘em all with the sticks they keep shoved up their asses.”

Castiel winced at his father’s crudeness as they walked out of the office and into the master bedroom. Joshua threw himself onto the bed on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I know you despise your medication, but they are doctors for a reason and they say it will help.” Castiel spoke as he prepared his father’s cocktail of pills. “But they only work if you take them.”

“Yeah, yeah. Give ‘em here.”

Castiel handed over the paper cup of pills and a glass of water, watching carefully as his father tossed them back, chasing them with a large gulp of water.

“There. You can go back to sleep now if you wish. I’ll make you some dinner and bring it up in a while.”

Joshua nodded, mumbling nonsense as he curled into the pillows. Castiel turned to leave, pausing when Joshua called out his name.

“Yes Father?” He asked from the doorway.

“D’you still do all that art shit I used to hate?” Joshua asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Occasionally.” Castiel lied cautiously, the tenderness in his father’s voice throwing him off.

“I still hate that you do it, art is for girls and fags.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Father.” Cas said, his voice shaking slightly with the hurt and anger that spiked through him at his father’s words, and the shame that though he’d heard those words many times before they still affected him so harshly. “Is that all?”

“You didn’t let me finish. I hate that you do it but I’d be an idiot to deny that you’re good, and I was wondering if you’ve – have you ever drawn your mother?”

Cas swallowed the lump that welled up in his throat at his father’s inquiry. He had often contemplated drawing his mother. In her robe with her hair in curlers, holding Cas in her lap and humming a lullaby; In her favorite church dress, her blonde hair a halo around her smiling face; In jeans and her peach floral blouse, hair in a scarf as she planted flowers in her garden behind the house. But every time he’d begin the air would get thick and he had no idea where to start. He cleared his throat and looked up at his father, who was watching him with so much pain in his eyes that Castiel couldn’t help but pity him in that moment.

“No. I haven’t drawn Mother. I haven’t been able to.” Castiel answered, voice thick with unshed tears.

“I don’t blame you.” Was Joshua’s reply. Cas nodded as Joshua laid back down, pulling the robe tighter around himself.

“Father,” Castiel took a chance, hopeful that his father was finally willing to listen to reason. “The medication also works a lot better when you don’t drink.”

“It’s easier this way.” Joshua replied. “Now go, my head hurts from the light.”

Castiel nodded and closed the door, standing outside the room for a moment to clear his head and dry the tears that had begun forming in his eyes. After making his father a quick dinner and leaving it on his bedside table he gathered his bag from the coat closet, retreated to his room and pulled out his memory box. It was just a large shoe box that he and his mother had covered with construction paper and glitter glue when he was 10, but he stored reminders of all of his favorite memories inside it. There were theme park tickets from the family vacation they took when Castiel was seven, photos from birthdays, Christmas cards, and even little clay figurines he’d made in art class in middle school. He shuffled through the box until he found the photo book his mother had given him on his thirteenth birthday. It was full of pictures of Castiel and his mother, save for one picture of his mother alone on the beach. It was his favorite photo of her. She sat in the sand, her legs straight out in front of her and crossed at the ankles, wearing a white sundress that complimented her smooth, tanned skin and blonde hair perfectly. Her blue eyes were the brightest he had ever seen them as she leaned back on her hands and gazed up at the stars in the sky. She was smiling, her face a vision of pure joy and serenity. It was the most beautiful Castiel had ever seen her look.

Carefully he removed the photo from its sleeve in the photobook and opened his sketchbook to the inside cover. Using scrapbooking tape so he wouldn’t ruin the photo he taped it onto the cover, carefully using the hem of his shirt to smooth it down so as to avoid getting finger prints on it. He sat back and admired the photo, ideas for new projects bursting forward in his mind and making him smile. His mother was always his biggest point of inspiration.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo bribes Dean, Dean and Sam have a 'moment', and Pastor Jim is a Pretty Cool Dude.

After Castiel left Dean returned to the ice cream counter trading his bar rag for an ice cream scoop. He and Jo served about 4 customers in silence before Dean got tired of her curious gaze burning holes into his side. As the last customer of the wave left he turned to her, leaning against the counter.

“What?”

Jo shrugged. “What d’you mean, what?”

“You know what I mean what, just ask me whatever it is you’re so curious to ask me.”

Jo grinned. “Well shucks, Winchester, you really do know me!” She dodged the rag he hurled at her head, laughing loudly. She tossed the rag back to him and resumed her spot against the counter. “Okay, in all seriousness, you like him don’t you?”

“Jo.” Dean warned but Jo cut him off.

“Cut the crap, Dean. I’ve known you since you were three.”

“He’s a friend, Jo. That’s all he is okay? Now can you please just drop this entire subject? I’m starting to really regret trusting you with telling you about The-Incident-That-Must-Not-Be-Mentioned.”

Jo snorted. “And you say Sam’s the nerd. You quote Harry Potter at least five times a day.” At Dean’s glare she sighed. “Fine, I’ll leave it alone until school starts.”

“Thank you.”

“If – ” She continued, making Dean lean his head back and groan in frustration. “and only if, you invite him to hang out. Outside the shop. Like to a movie or something.”

Dean shook his head insistently. “No. I’m not asking him on a freaking date.”

“How can it be a date if you don’t like him?” Jo smiled innocently, her eyes betraying that innocence by flashing maniacally.

“My point exactly. And stop grinning and glaring at me at the same time. It’s not intimidating, just incredibly creepy.”

Jo sighed. “I give up. But only for today. If you don’t ask him to hang out during your shift tomorrow I’m going to bring up The Incident every five minutes until you either cave and talk about it or die. Whichever comes first, I’m not picky.” She shrugged nonchalantly, absently wiping off an ice cream scoop.

Dean groaned. “I don’t even work tomorrow. Sammy has a game and Dad’s still out of town.”

“That’s perfect!” Jo exclaimed just as another wave of customers began showing up. Dean grinned at her in triumph as he scooped coffee ice cream into a waffle cone for the first customer.

“I am not done with you, Winchester.” Jo warned. They worked quickly and in sync. Jo’s mother, Ellen, owned the shop and was good friends with Dean’s dad through a mutual friend, Bobby Singer. Dean and Jo had been working the counter together since they were barely tall enough to reach the furthest tubs of ice cream. Their routine was practiced and precise and not long after first customer was served, the last left with their Oreo milkshake and Dean and Jo’s shift was over.

“So you’re going to invite Cas to your brother’s soccer game.” Jo told him as they passed their aprons off to the next shift and walked out to the employee parking lot.

“He probably won’t even want to go.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask.”

Dean let out a long, dramatic sigh, tipping his head back and rolling his eyes. “Fine, if I ask him will you leave me the hell alone about all of this?”

“Yes!” Jo punched the air in triumph. “Still the undefeated champion in the art of persuasion.”

“I don’t think it counts if you have to bribe the person you’re trying to persuade.”

Jo shrugged. “I don’t care how I get the end result, just as long as the end result is you agreeing to do what I want you to do.”

“Right, well I gotta go make dinner so have fun going home and kissing your Blendedict Cucumberbatch poster or whatever you girls do these days.”

“Well for one his name is Benedict Cumberbatch and he is a god. For two I actually have plans tonight anyway. A date.”

“Awww. How sweet.” Dean teased. “What’s his name.”

“Charlie.” Jo smiled.

“Charlie what?” Dean wondered as they reached their cars, reaching into his pocket for his keys.

“Bradbury. Charlie Bradbury.”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, hand still in his pocket, and turned to Jo. “Charlie Bradbury.” He repeated.

“That’s what I said, yes.”

“Red hair, really likes Walkin’ on Sunshine, president of the AV club? That Charlie Bradbury?”

“Yes, Dean. That Charlie Bradbury.” Jo nodded calmly, unfazed by the way Dean’s eyes widened almost comically.

“But she, she’s…” He trailed off.

“She’s what?” Jo prompted, crossing her arms.

“A she.” Dean finished lamely as Jo rolled her eyes.

“I am well aware of Charlie’s gender, Dean. I also happen to understand that there are exceptions to every rule. Especially when it comes to sexuality.”

“I just didn’t know you were uh…that you liked girls.”

“I don’t.” Jo shrugged. “But I like Charlie and that’s good enough for me. She is the exception to my sexuality.” She added, giving Dean a pointed look.

Dean’s cheeks started to burn and he resolutely turned toward his car, ducking his head and fumbling with his keys. He was so focused on not looking at Jo that he didn’t see her send a thumbs up toward the back entrance to the shop, where their other best friend Ash stood watching the interaction with a knowing smile.

“Well, I better go get ready for my date.” Jo said, amusedly watching Dean’s attempt to hide his blush.

“Yeah I gotta go uh, cook dinner and stuff. You have fun on your,” Dean paused, as if he was unable to get the word out. “Date.” He finally finished.

“I will” Jo grinned. “You don’t forget about our deal.”

Dean sighed as he unlocked his car door. “I won’t forget. But I am kind of hoping you will.”

Jo chuckled. “Oh don’t you worry, I’ll remember.” She winked at Dean before ducking into her car. Dean groaned as he lowered himself into his own car, a 1967 Chevy Impala. The car looked almost brand new, a fact Dean was very proud of considering he had done almost every repair the car had required himself when he inherited it from his father.

He followed Jo out of the parking lot, waving to her through the windshield as she turned left before he cranked the wheel to turn right. He sat back as he drove, basking in the feeling of driving his beloved car. He loved every part of her, from the rumble of her engine to the faint smell of leather and oil that permeated her interior. Man, he really did love his Impala.

When he pulled into his drive it was to discover Sam waiting for him on the porch, arms crossed angrily. He stood up as Dean got out of the car.

“I forgot my key.” He explained at Dean’s questioning look.

“Again?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you use Pastor Jim’s or Mrs. Euchlud’s phones? I could have come home on my break.”

“They weren’t home. Pastor Jim got home a few minutes before you did.” Sam made an annoyed huff as he followed Dean into the house. “This is why I need a cell phone, Dean.”

Dean sighed. “I know. I’ll talk to Dad next time he comes home. My plan’s about to expire anyway, maybe he’ll say yes to you getting a hand-me-down instead of a brand new phone.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Of course. He’s never home, and the only times he does come home it’s to tell me that I’m stuck using all your old crap again.”

“That’s not fair, Sammy. I know you hate that Dad’s gone all the time but he does it so we can have food and money. It sucks that you get stuck with the short end of the stick on some things, but without Mom – ” Dean broke off, tears welling up in his eyes.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Sam sighed. “I just wish he was here more.”

Dean pulled Sam into a brief hug, ruffling his hair as he pulled away. “I do too, Sammy. Go watch some TV while I make dinner.”

Sam nodded and Dean turned toward the kitchen, inspecting the barren cupboards and making a mental note to go grocery shopping before the weekend. While he cooked he thought back through the day, his conversations with Cas. It wasn’t until the water he’d been boiling for pasta boiled over and he burned his hand that he realized he was staring into space and grinning stupidly as he remembered the way Cas blushed when Dean pointed out that Cas tended to stare at him.

From then on Dean made a point not to think about Cas as he finished the pasta, dishing it into three bowls. One for him, one for Sam, and one to go into the fridge for later. He took his and Sam’s bowls into the living room, plopping onto the couch next to Sam to eat. After a brief argument over the remote they both decided on a psychological horror movie that they had missed the first thirty minutes of and therefore had no idea what the hell was happening.

“Oh come on, you don’t go into the creepy abandoned factory! That’s just like a given, man!” Dean shouted at the screen around a mouthful of pasta.

“People in horror movies are so stupid, they’re practically step-by-step manuals on what not to do in a horror movie situation.” Sam agreed.

“Do we even know what they’re running from?” Dean asked Sam.

“I have no clue, but I do know six inch stilettos and a denim miniskirt is not ideal run-for-my-life attire.” Sam shook his head in disappointment, spooning up another bite of pasta.

“Well, it’s not like a hooker’s gonna have time to run home and change in an emergency situation.” Dean rationalized.

“True, but she can at least take the shoes off. Barefoot has to be at least slightly easier than high heels.”

Dean hummed his agreement as the main jock-type character got his weapon knocked out of his hand for at least the fourth time since they’d started watching. “Seriously, why doesn’t he just tie it to his wrist or something? It’d be so much easier than having to scramble for it across the room every time.”

“Like I said; stupid.”

They finished their dinner in relative silence, only speaking to point out a filming error or complain about an inaccuracy. After putting their bowls in the sink Dean figured he should probably tell Sam they’d be taking Cas to the soccer game the next day.

“Hey Sammy, you don’t care if I bring a plus-one to your game tomorrow do you?”

Sam shrugged. “Sure. What’s her name and will you need me out of the house?”

“What? No, a guy. It’s a guy-friend, from the ice cream shop.”

“Oh. One of the cashiers?”

“No, he doesn’t work there. He comes in every day during my shift to draw.” Dean explained, pausing for a second before adding, “He’s really fuckin’ good too.”

“And he comes in during your shift. And only your shift?” He waited for Dean’s confirmation via a brief nod before continuing. “And he does this every day?”

At Dean’s nod Sam grinned. “What?” Dean demanded.

“Dude, this guy totally has a crush on you.”

“No way.” Dean shook his head but his blush betrayed him, making Sam laugh.

“Aw c’mon, Dean. Just take it as a compliment. Wanted by all the girls and all the guys? That’s a feat.” Sam paused, giving Dean a calculating look. “Unless you like him too?”

“Wha – why would you ask me that? I’m not gay.” Dean answered a little too forcefully, wincing at the harshness lacing his own voice.

Sam held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. But you know, I wouldn’t care if you did. Like him, I mean.”

“Well I don’t, so drop it.”

“Alright, fine.” Sam sighed and sat back into the cushions. “What kind of art does he do?”

“Uh, well I don’t know for sure, but he does charcoal sketches a lot at the shop. I think those must be his favorite because his last charcoal pencil broke today. He was pretty bummed out because they’re pretty expensive and his family aren’t exactly the Kardashians.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully before suddenly standing from the couch and disappearing upstairs. Dean heard him rummaging around for a second before he came rushing back down the stairs to the couch, holding out his hand. Dean took the offering and saw that it was a small wad of cash.

“What’s this for?” He asked. “Where did you even get this?”

“It’s called saving your money, Dean. It’s not an impossible feat, I promise.” Sam rolled his eyes. “I want you to use it to buy Cas new charcoal.”

“Sammy, I can’t – ”

“I don’t care what you think you can and can’t do, Dean.” Dean cut him off. “I know how hard you’ve been working so we can afford food, and I know that not all of the money ‘Dad’ gives us isn’t actually from Dad. I also know you Dean, and I know you want to help your friend. I started saving this in case I ever needed it, but I think Cas needs it more than I do.”

“No,” Dean insisted. “You should save this, try to get enough for a cell phone.”

“Dad already said I could get one when I turn 14. That’s only 8 months away. I think I’ll live.”

“Thanks, Sammy. I am going to pay you back though.”

“You even try to and I’ll deck you.”

Dean laughed. “Atta boy, Sammy.” He praised, standing and grabbing his keys. “So, I’m gonna go get those pencils.”

“You better.” Sam warned. “I don’t wanna find out that you gambled my money on a pool game.”

Dean rolled his eyes, holding up three fingers. “Scouts honor.”

“You were never in the scouts, Dean.”

“It’s the sentiment that counts.” Dean argued before walking out the door. It wasn’t until he was lowering himself into the Impala that he remembered he had absolutely no clue where to even go, much less what to buy once he got there. He wracked his mind for a solution, eventually landing on Pastor Jim, who taught art classes at the community center and happened to live next door.

Pastor Jim was really only pastor by technicality. He was the pastor of a church in a small town in Iowa, but began questioning his beliefs and moved to Lawrence to start over away from the church. The old pastor of their neighborhood’s church found out Jim was a pastor and insisted on retiring and Jim taking his place. Jim only conceded because he had yet to find a job and had been stuck preaching to every Christian in their neighborhood for the past fifteen years. He and Dean's dad had become close friends, and Dean labeled Pastor Jim an official Pretty Cool Dude. He had given Dean his first taste of beer when he was fourteen.

Dean decided Pastor Jim was the logical person to ask for advice on charcoal pencils and slid out of his seat. He jogged the short distance across the lawn to Pastor Jim’s front porch and rang the doorbell.

“Dean!” Jim exclaimed when he opened the door. “C’mon in, son.”

Dean stepped into the house, hands shoved in his pockets. Pastor Jim walked ahead of Dean into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“You want a beer or somethin’? I got Bud Light and a couple Coronas.”

“Nah, I’m driving. Thanks though. I just came over to get some advice if that’s cool with you.”

“Of course. You know I’m always all ears for you boys.”

“A friend of mine needs new charcoal pencils. He’s too poor to buy them himself so I was gonna surprise him with a new set.”

“And you have no idea what to look for.” Pastor Jim smirked. Dean nodded and Jim picked up a notepad and pen, taking a second to scribble something on it before handing it to Dean. “Just go to that store. It’s on West 13th, giant sign, can’t miss it. Ask an employee for these pencils specifically. They’re the best on the market. The numbers and letters at the end are important so don’t leave them out.”

Dean nodded and thanked him, turning to leave.

“Hey Dean,” Jim called after him, “this friend, is he a new friend?”

“Yeah, he comes into the ice cream shop to draw and we got to talking a few weeks ago. He’s a pretty cool guy. Why?”

Jim shrugged. “I’m just glad you have a new friend. Now go, I’m missing my show.”

Dean chuckled and gave Pastor Jim a small wave before leaving him to his show. The store was relatively easy to find. Dean walked through the aisles, eyes grazing over shelves and shelves full pencils, and pens, and paints. Everything an artist would need was lined up in neat little rows. Dean had the brief thought that bringing Cas here would be like taking a kid to a candy store and he couldn’t help but smile at the image of Cas running around excitedly, begging Dean to buy him a set of paints, or a new sketchbook.

After wandering around aimlessly for a minute a worker took pity on his helplessness and asked him if he needed help. Dean showed her the notepad and she led him to the pencils, picking up the right packaged and handing them to Dean. She cocked her head as he took them and crossed one arm across her chest, resting her other elbow on it as she used one finger to stroke a line from her ear to her throat.

“Are these for your girlfriend?” She asked in an obvious attempted the subtly ask if he was single. Dean decided to take the bait. The girl was cute, with a blonde pixie cut and blue eyes.

“It just so happens that I don’t have a girlfriend.” He grinned with his most charming smile.

“Really? You?” She said incredulously, shaking her head. “I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it, sweetheart.”

“Are those for you then?” She motioned to the pencils, edging closer. “You know, I’ve always thought guys who could draw were kinda sexy.”

“Actually they’re for a friend who can’t afford them, but I’ll try not to be too jealous.” Dean teased.

“Well that’s sweet of you to help him out. He must be glad to have a friend like you.”

“I hope so.” Dean grinned, letting his eyes linger on the girl’s lips, which were familiarly plump and pink. He wondered if this wasn’t his first time meeting this girl before his brain helpfully supplied an image of Cas and the similarity clicked. There was a brief moment where he noted that this girl’s lips didn’t look anywhere near as soft as Cas’s before an uneasy chill settled over his skin and he forced the thoughts away, forcing his brain to focus on anything but Cas at that moment.

“Are you okay?” The girl asked warily, making Dean jump before refocusing on her, his heart racing with anxiety.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Here,” he turned to a new page on the notepad and grabbed one of the test markers from a display next to them. “Why don’t you write down your name and phone number and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

The girl did so, smiling flirtily as she handed the pad back. Dean glanced at it to find out her name before putting it in his pocket.

“It’s been great meeting you, Meg, it really has, but I really gotta go.“ He smiled apologetically holding his hand out. “I’m Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester.”

Meg shook his hand, still smiling. “I know who you are. Good bye, Dean.”

With that she walked away and Dean watched her for a moment, confused, before making his way to the registers.

When he finally returned home Sam was on the couch typing away on his laptop, but he popped up and leaned over the back excitedly when he heard Dean walk in.

“Did you get them?”

Dean held up the bag in response. “I’m wiped out from work, so I think I’m gonna go to bed.”

Sam shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m typing a letter to Jessica Moore.”

“What kind of letter?” Dean smirked knowingly at Sam’s blush. “Aw, do you have a little girlfriend, Sammy?”

Sam blushed harder and Dean started chanting, “Sammy’s got a girlfriend!”

“Dean, knock it off!” Sam plopped back down on the couch, arms crossed angrily. “She’s not even my girlfriend yet.”

“Aw c’mon, Sammy. I was just teasin’.” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair as he walked by. “You have fun writing your love letter. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go get your ten hours, old man.” Sam yelled after him in reply.

Dean chuckled as he reached his room and shut himself inside. He quickly changed into pajama pants and an old Led Zeppelin shirt and fell backward onto his bed with an exhausted sigh. He thought a while about how he would give Cas the pencils, shooting upright when he came up with the perfect idea. Standing from his bed he walked over and started rummaging through his desk until he found a sheet of thick, white paper and a black Sharpie. He folded the paper in half so it stood up like a tent and one on half wrote ‘RESERVED FOR ARTISTS ONLY’. Dean placed the sign over the pencils and frowned. There was something missing, something for the actual gift. He knew Cas would be grateful that Dean had even thought of getting him a gift, but Dean wasn’t one to half-ass a present. He thought for a moment, eyes scanning the room. They landed on the sketchbook his mother has given him before she died and smiled. It was perfect. Dean knew he was nowhere near talented enough to honor her memory by drawing in it, but Cas definitely was. He knew his mom would have loved the idea.

Dean placed the book under the pencils with the sign on top and smiled. Perfect. He turned the lights off and climbed back into bed, staring at the gift through the fading light of the sunset this his window provided. He was almost too excited to sleep but he eventually managed to doze off while playing through the next day in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not expecting to update today, but I couldn't help myself. If you want you can follow me on tumblr for updates, cool posts, and who am I kidding because I'm just awesome duh. http://destielkills.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Landon Pigg's Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop and this happened. I'm hoping to update at least every other week, so stay tuned and lemme know what you think! :)


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